


Tears

by LadyOfTheMist27



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Artist!Aki, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfTheMist27/pseuds/LadyOfTheMist27
Summary: To Akihito, there was beauty in tears.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting around on my PC for ages, I just polished it up a bit. Forgive it if the writing is sub-par, it's been so long, and I'm dying from school. Consider it a (very) early Christmas gift, or a slightly early Thanksgiving gift for all my fellow Americans~

To Akihito, there was beauty in tears. Not the tears actors shed for the camera, nor the tears manipulative women wielded as a weapon or bargaining chip. What he loved were the tears that rushed out uncontrollably, the ones accompanied by emotion and pain and a _story_. Those tears spoke a thousand words, and were a thing that bound all human experience together.

Those tears surrounded him in his studio. He stood pensively, smelling the lingering scent of paint in the air emanated from the wet canvas in front of him. All around him, people wept from easels. Portraits, partially complete, were frozen in moments of sorrow. They cried realistically, with blotchy cheeks and reddened eyes. The elegance and heroism classical artists were so fond of adding to tears was absent. Each and every painting was _real_ in the way that few people enjoyed confronting.

But to him, these paintings were important and cathartic. With layers of paint, he sealed away their wounds and listened to their fears. Each person had a part of their soul that cried; he simply sought it out and captured it on canvas, bleeding the poison out of the wound.

He still remembered his debut. The art world had been uneasy at his portraits, and his very first gallery showing hadn’t exactly met a warm reception. Now though…his gaze wandered to a far corner of the room, where files were piled atop a tiny desk. More commissions to sift though. Even being in-demand, it seemed, had downsides.

He sighed, feeling the desire to create seep out of him, running like water through a sieve. He knew from experience that even if he carried on now, the brush would be clumsy in his hands and just ruin the product. A break was in order. _Wait_. His head whipped around to the clock hanging on the wall behind him. 2:30.

The man might be there.

Feet spurred by sudden haste, he ran outside, snatching his coat off the hook by the door to fend off the crisp fall breeze that deftly cut through the thin fabric of his shirt. Time was of the essence; after all, he may see the man today.

The walk to the little café was short, and Aki found he didn’t mind the way peoples’ eyes lingered on his paint-smeared clothes as much as he usually did.

The Grind was a charming little shop. Aki loved their…well everything really, and he would’ve frequented it no matter what. But at times, it provided him with a perk of sorts. He poked his head inside, sighing with pleasure as the toasty air warmed the tips of his chilled nose and fingers.

“Welcome, customer.” The girl at the register said automatically with the air of an experienced employee, turning after a beat to greet him. “How can I—oh, Aki-san! I wasn’t expecting you today. The usual, then?”

“Yeah, and a cheese danish.” Aki chirped. “You’re getting good, Kyoko-chan.” He could remember when she was a newbie, stuttering and trailing behind her senpai nervously. Now, her fingers moved confidently, and she didn’t hesitate at all in her movements.  

“Thanks!” She preened for a bit as she clacked away at the register, accepting his money. “Oh and by the way,” Her voice lowered, taking on a conspiratory undertone as her hazel eyes glinted slyly. “ _He_ ’s in the back corner.”

There was no need to ask who _he_ was. Kyoko’s gleeful titter left no questions. Aki rolled his eyes good naturedly as she bustled off to make his coffee, before turning around as casually as possible to face the back corner. It took one second to spot the man. He sat with his back to the counter, pensively staring out the large windows.

He would’ve recognized that broad back, clad in some absurdly expensive (and well-fitting) suit, anywhere. He had asked once about how much those suits cost, back when he hadn’t known the man for long and wasn’t aware that he practically _bathed in money_. Aki shuddered just to remember the absurd number the man had laid out. That much for a suit? Unless it was solid gold, he was being ripped off for sure.

“Here’s your vanilla latte and cheese danish!” Kyoko put down the cup on the counter. Aki turned back around, grabbing his stuff and giving her another smile.

“Thanks!”

“No problem!” She chirped. “Now go get ‘em tiger!”

Aki sighed. Sometimes girls like Kyoko scared him with their ability to support romance (even imagined ones) in any way shape or form. Other times, he was just glad to have them on his side.

He plunked down on the chair in front of the man, setting down his cup and pastry. “Long time no see.”

For a second, the man ignored him, choosing instead to tap out something on his tablet (likely a long complicated corporate letter). Tucking the slim tablet away in his briefcase, he took a sip of coffee and greeted Aki, just the same as always. “Indeed. And how have you been?”

“Overworked.” Aki slumped down, taking a hearty bite of his danish.

“But not underpaid, I hear.” Asami smirked. “Your last piece sold for quite a bit.”

“Eh, I’m indifferent to money.” Aki shrugged. “How much cash does a guy need, really? I’m not like you; haute couture isn’t exactly my calling.” He looked meaningfully down at his paint splattered jeans.

“Ah, but you misunderstand.” Asami raised a finger in that condescending way that always set Aki’s teeth on edge. “I don’t wear _haute couture_ , as you put it, because I like it. I wear it to look the part. People will judge you on how you look, especially in the business world. I just play the game.”

This was usually how their talks went. Aki would make a statement, usually careless and a little teasing, and Asami would dissect it and usually give Aki a dose of philosophy while he was at it. And always, always with a confident, infuriating smirk on his face, and some suggestive glances if he was in a flirty mood. That’s just how Asami was; confident, suave, a tad bit ruthless…and very, _very_ good at hiding his emotions.

But today, he wasn’t quite in the mood for one of their characteristic discussions.

“Hey, Asami?” He took another bite of pastry.

“Yes, Akihito?” He echoed back.

“You should let me paint you.”

He let the phrase hang in the air for a second or two, looking intently at the man’s expression. A glimmer of shock raced across golden eyes before calm indifference reigned again, and he felt a perverse sort of pride at being able to shake the unshakeable man.

“I’m honored that a world-renowned painter might want me as a model…” The man said carefully, sipping at his own drink. “But we both know I’m not capable of being one of _your_ models.”

“Why ever not?”

“I don’t cry.” The man said it as if it was a fact. As if his tear glands had been surgically removed or some shit. He said it so simply, without hesitation, as if he really, truly thought it wasn’t a bullshit lie. Most people, cowed by his wealth and good looks, might have even swallowed that bullshit lie. Akihito was not one of those people.

“Bullshit.” He set down his cup with a distinct _clack_. “Everyone cries. What you mean to say is that you don’t _want_ to cry. And _that_ simply makes you just like everybody else.”

“Nevertheless, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline the offer, as tempting as it sounds.”  Oh, and there he went using language Aki suspected he used exclusively at cocktail parties, or whatever the hell rich people did recreationally.

“You know…” Aki tilted his head, regarding the man solemnly. “Crying doesn’t make a person weak. And not crying doesn’t necessarily make a person strong.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with you. Still, I simply can’t allow you to paint me one of your unique portraits, much as I regret it. Oh, and look at the time!” He feigned shock, though Aki knew that there was no way he didn’t know the time down to the second every second of the day. “I have an early meeting this morning, so I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself.”

* * *

 

“Neh, you should _really_ let me paint you. For real.”

“Might I interest you in dinner instead?”

“Don’t try to change the sub—wait, _what_?!”

“Let’s go to dinner together this evening. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Don’t I?”

“…”

“…”

“….it better not be too fancy.”

“I’ll pick a place suitable for you.”

“And I’m still painting you someday.”

“I have no doubt you’ll keep on trying.”

“Humph.”

* * *

 

“Ah…ahhhh…”

“That’s it, louder, for me, kitten.”

“N-no…”

“No?”

“W-want…to…paint…ah!...you.”

“Do you plan on holding out until I give in?”

“Y-yes.”

“Well I suppose that’s it for our night then.”

“W-wait, what?! You can’t just up and leave like that!”

“Well it seemed like a stalemate at any rate.”

“Ugh, get your muscled ass back here! We’re not done!”

“I beg to differ.”

“And if I _beg_ for you to fuck me?”

“…”

“…”

“You win this round.”

* * *

 

“Neh, neh, you should try these chocolates I made! They’re delicious~~”

“…what are you scheming?”

“Wha~~t? Me?! I would never, I just wanted you to taste these chocolates for me!”

“You don’t speak like that unless you want something.”

“Of course I want something! I want you to taste these delicious treats I baked for you, because somebody _wasn’t home_ for Valentines, hmm?”

“I already apologized for that, kitten. You know I would’ve skipped if I could’ve. Do you want a kiss as apology?”

“Nope. I won’t accept any form of apology except you eating these chocolates, baked with my love for you.”

“Very well, hand them over.”

“Yessir!”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…are you fucking _kidding_ me?!”

“Quite delicious. Are these dark chocolate?”

“W-well, yes, but do you not have _taste buds_?!”

“Oh, yes, the kickback is a bit strong, but I suppose it’s forgivable for a first time baker such as yourself.”

“…I spiked those with the most expensive wasabi I could afford, you bastard. How are you _not CRYING_?”

“I’ve told you before; I have complete dominion over my body.”

“…freak.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Asami, I’m making curry, can you help chop?”

“Of course, what do you need me to do?”

“Oh, not much, just chop this pile of onions.”

“…you’re planning on using an awful lot of onions aren’t you?”

“It’s what really makes the dish, okaa-san says so. Chop them as finely as possible please!”

“If this is another attempt to make me cry, I’ll just tell you it isn’t going to work, Akihito, so can we please not eat this many onions for dinner? They don’t even taste good.”

“The words of a loser, prove it!”

“Very well…”

“…I hate you, you know that?”

“Can we not have this many onions for dinner now?”

“Nuh-uh, picky eaters get sick more easily, keep on chopping you tearless soul.”

* * *

 

He really could not, for the life of him, remember why he always kept the spare oils up on _this_ shelf. Aki grunted, balancing on his toes on the stool as he strained to reach the top of the old shelf. _So…close…maybe if I just braced against here…_

A dainty hand braced against the beam as the other reached up higher, snagging the tube of aquamarine. He huffed in victory, pulling it out…just as wood splintered, half the shelf coming away in his hand. The world spun as he pitched backwards, driven by the force of his tug and gravity. _Oh shi—_

* * *

 

This mattress was _really_ thin. Aki shifted in discomfort, feeling the springs dig in. What, had Asami replaced his plush mattress with a piece of crap? Bright sunlight pried at his eyses. Had Asami forgotten to draw the blinds again? But no, he was forgetting something, something… _oh._ Cracking open his eyes, he groaned, taking in the sterile hospital room. His head pulsed dimly, but less than it should’ve, considering that hit. Probably pain meds.

Gingerly, he turned from side to side, taking in the hospital room. A large window, showing a courtyard with flowers and trees. A TV, turned off, a shower in the corner…and Asami, snoozing on one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. His suit, normally immaculate, was a rumpled mess, with a stain of blood on the cuff of one sleeve, and his hand was tightly clasped around Akihito’s.

Aki smiled, feeling a twinge in his chest. Asami didn’t express himself easily, but he knew he cared. His other hand rose up, ruffling Asami’s hair fondly, staring at his peaceful visage. Yet, as he watched, the man’s face twisted up in a grimace of agony, a low groan rumbling from his chest. Tears crept out from underneath tightly shut lids, rolling down his cheeks. “Shh, shh, it’s all alright.” Aki babbled, half in a panic, arms automatically coming around to embrace the man. “I’m here now, it’s all okay. No, no, don’t be sad anymore.”

A strangled gasp sounded next to his ear as Asami jerked once, before relaxing and drawing in ragged breaths. “Akihito? You’re awake?”

“Just now, really.” Aki nodded, a thumb rubbing soothing circles on Asami’s back. “You were crying, ya know. I knew it was all macho bullshit all that time back. Can’t cry my ass.”

Asami gave a wet chuckle, turning his head to bury it in Akihito’s neck. “You win, kitten, as long as you never use up one of your lives like that ever again. Paint me a beautiful painting.”

“As soon as I get out of this place, I promise.” Pale hands idly toy with inky locks. “It will the most beautiful thing I’ve ever created, I’m sure.”

* * *

 

Tears surrounded Akihito constantly. Tears of every way, shape, and form, preserved forevermore on his canvases. And they were all beautiful to him in their own ways, unique in the way that only sorrow can be.

And yet, nothing could compare to this. He gently touched the freshly dried canvas, depicting Asami, tears creeping down his cheeks like pearls as his handsome face contorts in grief. A god, brought down the to level of mere mortals.

“What do you think of my tears, now that you’ve finally seen them?” Asami asks wryly, bare-chested in just a pair of pajama pants. “Are they everything you could’ve imagined and more?”

“Yes.” Aki lets the word hand in the air of the studio as he admires his painting, a fitting end to his Sorrow Series. “But I think I like your smile even more.”

Perhaps it was time to begin anew, with a different theme.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day, and I hope yours is fantastic ^.^


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